


The Barbarians

by Slytherin_vikiss



Series: Antony and Lysandra through time [4]
Category: A Courtesan of Rome (Visual Novel)
Genre: AU, Child Murder, Conspiracy, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence against women, and there'll be warnings before the chapter starts, just in case, this fic will not follow through history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-25 05:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_vikiss/pseuds/Slytherin_vikiss
Summary: Antony and Lysandra’s plan to spy on Caesar is spoiled by the man himself, who discovers both the conspiration and the nature of their relationship.Caesar decides to send Antony a little message through his lover, but in doing so commits the biggest error of his life.Now Antony will see to it that Caesar loses everything; from his imaginary crown to his life. Antony will see to it that Rome belongs to him, him and his Princess of Gaul.“Let the Senate gripe about foreign queens...I’ll never let them shame me.”





	The Barbarians

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am an history student, but not an on roman society expert by far, and even though I'm doing research to write this I just know I'll get some things wrong, so if I do, please let me know :)

**I**

**Antony**

  
  


The slaves stood back, their backs almost touching the cold walls of the villa as their domine paced from one side of the atrium to the other, almost colliding with a column on a few occasions, but not seeming to notice it.

Antony looked up, and staring back at him were a few masks of his ancestors. His display was by far smaller than most patricians families, but he had them commissioned years back after his brother suggested it. He regretted spending all that coin in those stupid things. Everybody knew that the real masks were in Caesar’s possession, and that he was no more than an almost forgotten cousin, a thorn on the Julii’s sandals. At the moment, the masks casted shadows into the floor, and their faces mocked him.

One of those days, he was going to grab the wretched things and throw them away. Who cared about masks of people he never met? They were dead, and probably wanted to rest in peace.

Gods, he hoped no one dared to do a mask of him. Once he died, he’d rather just sleep unbothered by the nuisance of whatever sad cock was born into the family.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, messing it up even more. He needed to cut it, he knew this, and he needed to be rid of the beard, but Lysandra said she liked the beard, so he kept it, like a fool, just because she asked.

He was waiting for her; had been for a few hours now. One of her friends at the _ scholae _, a pretty blonde thing named Livinia, had stopped by to tell him Lysandra would be late that day. When he asked why, she had said Caesar insisted the Princess of Gaul joined him for dinner.

Livina had left shortly after telling him she had no idea of what the man wanted with Lysandra, and that the woman in question didn’t know either, and Antony was then left alone within his own head.

What could he want?

He knew what he wanted: the same thing Antony wanted from her, but the thought of Caesar bedding her was too repulsive to him, so he shook his head and kept on pacing.

He couldn’t blame the man for calling on her so abruptly, for losing his patience; Antony did it often. He’d decide he had enough of being away from her embrace and would sneak into the _ scholae _, climbing through her window.

Still, something nugged at him. Caesar didn’t lack patience, even for beautiful women. They came in second to his power plays.

“_ Domine _.” one of the slaves stepped forward, bowing her head meekly. “Dinner is ready and served.”

“Wait. Keep it warm.” he muttered dismissively.

The slave nodded and left, probably off to the _ triclinium _where the food awaited.

He resumed his pacing.

Lysandra could handle herself with Caesar; he knew she could. She could do anything in his eyes, be anything.

Maybe it was just the guilt of sending the woman he loved off to another, more dangerous man what was bothering him; but there was nobody else he could trust with the job.

He sat down on the couch, fingers digging into his knees, cursing he and his ‘brilliant’ plans. Cursing Lysandra, for making him care the way he did.

He heard the door being open and the _ ianitor _talking to someone, only for seconds later see one of the guards who stood outside his door rush in.

“Domine,” he greeted, not looking him in the eye. “a woman awaits for you outside.”

“A woman? Which woman? Is it Lysandra?” he asked in quick succession, and waved a hand impatiently “Well, make her come in, man! Quick!”

“Uh, I’m afraid I’m not sure to the woman’s identity, domine. I can’t let her pass without your permission.” he cleared his throat, still not looking at him. “I insist that you come with me.”

“If you’re making me waste my time, man, so help me the Gods, I’ll have you whipped ‘till there’s no more skin on your back.” he rose to his feet, and the soldier jumped in his place, but accepted the threat and walked behind him, outside the villa and into the streets. 

Antony looked to one side of the empty streets, then to the other, and saw a fragile figure standing there in the darkness. Motioning to the guard, he walked closer, the light of the torch the man behind him carried helping to see better in the growing darkness. It wasn’t night yet, but it was almost dark enough to be blinded by Nox.

It was a woman, alright, but she looked like shit. Like she had gone through a battlefield. The blue silk of her dress torn in places and painted red, the visible skin turning purple or bleeding. She stood awkwardly, putting most weight on one leg, which told him that the other must’ve been seriously injured.

He walked closer, and his heart dropped at his feet when, after a few seconds, he recognized the face.

It was badly beaten and swelling, but he’d recognize Lysandra any day, in any way and any life.

She didn’t move in his direction, it seemed like most her strength was being reserved to not hit the ground, so Antony lunged forward, but she shrinked on the spot.

“It’s alright, my love. It’s just me. It’s just me.” he tried to be gentle when speaking, and when she didn’t move again, he approached, extending a hand and putting it around her shoulders.

“I-I’m cold.” she shuddered.

“You, the cloak.” he told the guard, who ripped the red fabric off his shoulders and handed it to Antony, being careful enough to step around Lysandra, trying not to scare her.

Antony draped the fabric around her.

“Let’s go inside, my love, eh? Slowly now.”

“It hurts.”

It came out as a weak cry.

Taking in a sharp breath, Antony didn’t hesitate and took her in his arms. Lysandra yelled in pain when he did, but he shushed her as quietly as he could, rushing inside.

“Not a word of this, to anyone.” he told the guards as he headed back inside, the whimpering courtesan with her face hidden in the crook of his neck. “You! Get a medic! And you! Go to Lena’s scholae, tell her to come now!” he nodded to two wide-eyed slaves, who scrambled on their way out, away from him impeding rageous fit.

He went straight to his room. Lysandra’s arm tried to tighten around his neck as she kept crying, and in turn he could only place a quick kiss to her forehead.

As delicately as he could, he placed her down on the bed, untangling her arm from around him and fixing the cloak around her. She opened her eyes as much as she could.

“Antony?”

“Yes, it’s me.” he soothed her, running his hand through her hair in a ghostly manner. “Don’t fret; you’re safe now.”

Lysandra was a famous courtesan, beloved by the people. Who would dare do this to her?

He asked her:

“Who did this?”

She closed her eyes.

“My head...it’s digging into my head,...it hurts, Antony.”

Carefully, he took her head in his hands and turned it to the side, catching a plain, silver pin. He took it out, the red line on the accessory making him sick.

It was the first time he felt in such a way upon the sight of blood.

“Cae-Caesar,...”she breathed out, as if just realizing the question. “Caesar knows. He di…”

She closed her eyes, and he didn’t try to wake her.

Antony ran his cold fingers down the side of her face, almost unrecognizable.

_ Caesar knows. _

He wondered how, of course, but the thought was fleeting, a small occurence of sorts as his blood began to boil.

He hurt her. Antony understood. Lysandra was dangerous in her own way, to hurt her was to infuriate plebs and patricians alike. If Caesar wasn’t afraid of that, even less so he’d be of Antony, of the Senate and the roman people.

Antony didn’t want it to come to this. He only wanted to know if his loyalties still laid with the people of Rome, or if they were now settling in Alexandria.

He understood.

He sat by her in silence, ignoring the cold filtering through the windows.

Soon enough (or so it felt like to him), the medic arrived. The man often worked for him and his brothers.

He walked in, shaking terribly due to his old age.

“Fix her.” he said firmly, not bothering to greet him.

The man approached the bed, his green eyes running up and down her covered form.

“I need to see. May I make the cloak aside?”

Antony nodded, absentmindedly, and reluctantly stood back to allow the man a space to work, but keeping a close eye on him.

He pushed the fabric to the sides, and Antony hissed upon seeing her under the light.

Yes, her dress was torn off, completely destroyed, and she was so covered in blood he couldn’t tell where the wounds were.

“I need to wash her.”

“What?” he snapped.

“To attend the wounds, I need to clean her.”

“I shall do that.” spoke a third voice, walking into the room with her head held high. Lena’s face betrayed nothing but motherly concern when she examined her courtesan. A step behind her, a woman with dark skin and hair styled to the egyptian fashion gasped softly, her jeweled hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Nadjem and I will clean her for you.” Lena nodded to the medic, and then shot Antony a brief glare. He returned it, signaling to one of the slaves.

Lena spoke to the slave while the other woman, most likely another courtesan, rounded the bed, tilting her head as she examined Lysandra.

“You shouldn’t have let her fall asleep.” she said, her voice deep and smooth, as her eyes flickered up to him. They were of a hazel colour.

“I agree.” the medic added.

“She was in pain. It seemed better than keeping her agonizing.” was his weak defense. Sighing, he turned to Lena. “My slaves are at your disposal.”

He left the room with the medic, stopping at the door to look back for just one moment.

“Nadjem, take off her dress, please.” Lena said to the other woman.

Antony closed the doors, giving them some privacy. 

He didn’t want to be far away from Lysandra, and wanted the medic nearby in case of an emergency, so he had a chair bought for the old man as he resumed his pacing.

How dare he? How dare Caesar lay a hand on her?

What if the wounds proved to be too much? What if…? What if she died? 

With a yell that resembled more a lion’s roar, Antony kicked a potted plant. The pot was big, black and heavy, but it fell to the ground nonetheless and shattered into a hundred pieces.

“You should be more careful, domine.” the medic chuckled, trying to make small talk. “I doubt your wife would appreciate a broken house.”

“FUCK MY WIFE!”

The man jumped on his seat, putting a hand to his heart, but Antony ignored him. Antonia was the least of his problems at the moment. Fuck her, and fuck her stupid trips to the south. 

She liked the heat, apparently, but Antony was no fool. He knew Dolabella had left Rome the day after she did.

He didn’t care for what she did, he cared for what Lena and that other woman, Nadjem, did to Lysandra while he waited. He cared for her recovery. He cared for justice.

After what felt like an eternity, Lena walked out, and motioned for the medic.

“She is ready to be attended.”

The man stood with some effort and headed into the room. Antony went to follow, but Lena put a firm yet soft hand on his chest.

“I should like to speak to you.” she said, deadly serious.

Antony peeked inside the room, where the medic leaned over Lysandra. Nadjem sat next to her, running a dark hand through the Princess’s hair, watching the man in silence.

“Nadjem will keep an eye on him.”

Antony guided her into his _ tablinum _, a place he had learned to keep lit at all times. He closed the curtains behind them. Lena stood stiffly, discreetly watching everything around her.

“Stop that. You won’t find anything of interest to strike me with.” he said matter of fact.

She turned to him, her eyes ablaze.

“What did you do?!” she whispered/yelled at him.”

“I didn’t do anything! She showed up looking like that!” he answered in the same manner. He wasn’t about to let that woman talk to him like that.

“Then what..?”

“Caesar happened.” he confessed, stopping for a moment to consider before continuing. Lena knew he and Lysandra had been up to something for the past months, but she had never asked why and his Princess had promised she hadn’t told anyone. If he wanted to achieve his vengeance in peace, he’d have to confess to some things. “I asked her to spy on Caesar for me, and it appears he found out.”

“You…!” Lena turned away from him, taking in a deep breath to calm herself. “What were you thinking? Putting one of my girl in danger?”

“You sell her everyday to the best bidder. Juno’s cunt, you sold her to me!”

“I do no such thing!” she rounded on him. “I give them a choice.”

“You let her choose? Choose what? Which cock to suck on?”

“You know that’s not the only thing courtesans are for.”

“It’s the only one most of us care about.”

“Is either that or be a mere slave. Now tell me, which is better?” she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t try to put this on me, Antony. This is your fault. I told her taking you as patron was a bad idea. And look what happened to her! You knew her story with Caesar, and still, you sent her to him as a gift.” she made a disgusted face, pulling away from him. “No, don’t try to put this on me. It’s not my fault you didn’t care enough to protect her.”

He had never wanted to hit a woman more in his life, put instead he put his hands into fists behind his back, regarding her as cooly as he could, trying to stop the shaking.

“Don’t worry about us. Caesar will pay.”

“Oh, no. I won’t let her near you again after this. What she needs is to recover and earn back her reputation.”

Antony rolled his eyes.

“I thought it was meant to be her choice.”

A slave entered shyly.

“The medic calls for you, _ domine _.”

Throwing Lena one last, cold look, he exited the _ tablinum _ , crossing across the _ atrium _with a few long strides and storming in. Lysandra rested peacefully, covered with the bedsheets up to her chest. Her hair had been combed it would seem, and there were a few bandages on her arms.

“Well?”

“Uh,”the medic stepped forward to stand by his side. He heard the footsteps of Lena behind him. “there’s no broken bones, thankfully, but she will be sore for a few days. Most of her body is only covered in bruises, but she did have a nasty cut on the back of her leg, which I had to stitch up, and another on her side. She woke up, but I gave her a little something to put her back to sleep.” he turned, looking up at Antony. “She should be out all night, and I’ll return in the morning to change the bandages. I also recommend prayers to Apollo, and a sacrifice.”

He dismissed the man. Prayers his ass. Killing off a rabbit or a bull wouldn’t do anything for Lysandra.

He looked at Nadjem and then at Lena.

“I’ll let you know when she awakes.” he said, and when the older woman opened her mouth, he called out to one of his guards stationed just outside: “Gaius! Make sure they make it back safe.”

Lena’s defiant look fell after a moment, and with a quick farewell, they were both out.

Antony closed the doors to his room and neared the bed once more. Still standing, he hovered above Lysandra, taking a strand of hair in his fingers for a moment. In sleep, she was frowning slightly. He went to take her hand, and noticed it was cold, so he moved her arms carefully, placing them beneath the sheets.

He went to the windows and closed them all, but stayed by one of them for a moment. The night was dark, the stars hid behind clouds. There was a storm coming; and just as he had that thought, lighting parted through the sky, the thunder following right after.

He turned his back to the world, going back to the bed, and sitting on a chair by it. Over the sheets, he placed a hand on Lysandra’s thigh, his thumb running across it slowly.

Why had she gone to him? He hated to admit it, but Lena was right: it was his fault. Lysandra wasn’t stupid, she would know that as well, so why return to his home?

She tried to turn on her side, in the direction he was seating, but moaned softly and went back to laying on her back, unperturbed.

Antony clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to believe that Caesar would turn against Rome, and despite his message maybe he hadn’t, but he didn’t care anymore.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to stay awake.

All those months, all the sneaking around, the pain of seeing Lysandra in public, walking on the arm of Caesar and having to pretend to not care, were all for nothing. In the end, they didn’t have proof of anything. 

It should be good. He wanted to make sure Caesar didn’t plan on betraying Rome, and from Lysandra’s reports it seemed like he didn’t intend to, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be glad.

He wished he didn’t care. He wished he could hate Lysandra.

Instead he now hated Caesar. He knew the burning in his blood well enough.

He hated Caesar, and he would see to it that the bastard paid.


End file.
